


[Blank.File]

by Coffee_Scribbles



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, YouTube RPF - fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Badass Ethan Nestor, Consensual Possession, Dark Ethan Nestor, Domestic Fluff, Eldritch, Eldritch Horror BlankGamePlays, Especially one's as big as this, Ethan Nestor Egos, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Human Amy Nelson, Human Mark Fischbach, It's hard to keep secrets when you're on tour, Markiplier's You're Welcome Tour, Multi, Open Relationships, Possession, Secret-Keeping, Soft Amy Nelson, Soft Ethan Nestor, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Sweet Mark Fischbach, Tour Bus, Tour Bus Shenanagans, supernatural powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Scribbles/pseuds/Coffee_Scribbles
Summary: At the end of the day, it was just Ethan. Just sweet little Ethan.Nervous laughter and socially anxious Ethan.Self-deprecating, dumb-joke making Ethan.Slightly-too-silent, glowing-eyed Ethan.Ice cold, hollow-faced Ethan.Blank, empty space Ethan....Nothing to fear, right?
Relationships: Amy Nelson/Ethan Nestor, Eventually: - Relationship, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson/Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 23
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

When Mark wakes up, it’s to the soft sound of someone humming.

He’s not quite sure why he’s awake at first, squinting into the darkness, his face still half-smushed into his pillow, but with their schedule, their busy life of shows and practice, and also keeping up with everything else his job entailed, his sleep schedule was fucked anyway. And he knew this feeling; he wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep, even if he tried.  
So Mark got up. Tossing off the slightly too-warm covers, shifting and groaning as a few bones popped into place as he stretched out more. Grabbing his glasses from a small pocket at the top of his bunk, along with his phone.

He flicked it on, flinching and hissing into the piercing light. He swiped up on the screen and did his best to dial down the brightness while blind.  
Eventually he did succeed, blinking wearily into the notifications, and checking the time.

It was six in the morning.  
The sun should be rising soon.

  
Mark shifted, stretching out his shoulders and spine, idly listening to whoever was in the other room shift around a little and then continue humming. He knew that, of their group, he was most certainly the earliest of risers.  
Which presented a new question: who could be making that noise?

Originally he’d thought the noise and shuffling might have been from the driver, who had been employed by the bus-rental service they were using.  
But something about the voice felt… familiar. Too familiar.

  
And as Mark shuffled out from his tiny cot, he realized that there was one other empty bed.  
The humming had stopped again.

The bus was rather quiet, the low rumble of the engine purring beneath his feet as he padded along the cool floor. Things shifting softly with the easy, soft pattern of acceleration and deceleration. He reached the main room of the bus, his palm resting on the doorframe to steady himself.

There was a small lamp on in the far corner, and a computer open on the small kitchen-table, but otherwise, it was dark; not quite dark enough that Mark couldn’t see a familiar, small form, curled up on the seats attached to the small kitchen counter, though.

  
Ethan’s glasses glinted against the dim lighting, perched low on his nose, his head lulled against the cool window, hair mussed - likely from sleep. His clothes, a simple black t-shirt and jeans were surprisingly well kept.

Mark wanted to speak up, to say something, but after a breath, he decided against it. Something about the air felt… peaceful. Tranquil in the barely-there dawn, edging across the horizon.

  
He watched for a moment, leaning against the doorframe as the road curved and the bus leaned, waiting for Ethan to notice him. For the boy, who was usually so restless and energetic, to do, well, to do much of anything.

  
But Ethan, oddly enough… didn’t.  
  


His computer was open, and still lit up, but by all other means, the boy looked completely lost to the world. He didn’t even really look like he was thinking either… or blinking.

Hazel eyes staring deep into the world just beyond the glass.  
Mark would have thought he had fallen asleep there if his eyes hadn’t been open, flickering slowly and dragging across the buildings and trees they passed. Barely visible in the incredibly early, dim hours of dawn.  
He just sat, unnaturally calm, looking out one of the windows with his earbuds in.

  
Maybe a minute later, Mark gave up on standing in the doorway, waiting for Ethan to notice his presence, and entered. Moving toward the coffee machine. He was prepared for Ethan to startle at the movement, even shout-

But the silence reigned.

Mark adjusted his glasses, and fought the urge to turn back and stare at Ethan again; instead grabbing the bag of coffee grounds and beginning to prepare it.

The air smelled a little bit like chamomile tea —likely coming from the cold mug sitting out in front of Ethan— but that was quickly being overrun by the earthy, rich scent of the steam and coffee grounds. It warmed the surprisingly chilly air.

He set out two mugs. Mostly out of habit- because Ethan had done the same for him so many times, after pulling all-nighters or even just getting lost in work during the morning, forgetting to pour himself a brew and accepting it from the other ever-so-thankfully.

He went to the mini-fridge, grabbing the container of creamer, then the sugar from on top of the fridge, and fully prepared the mugs; filling them slightly shallowly to avoid the contents sloshing over from the rocking of the bus.

Mark lifted his own mug to his lips and took a long sip, relishing in the feeling of warmth it spread through his chest. Even if the steam did fog up his glasses.  
Mark twisted around, both mugs in hand, and moved closer to Ethan. The boy looked so…. Serene. So still.

Mark took a long breath, leading to a sigh. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the static-like, hazy feeling that he attributed to simply still being tired.

Mark looked at the screen over Ethan’s shoulder, the boy still not having noticed him.   
He must be really lost in thought.

On half the screen, an editing software was pulled up, one of Mark’s videos; mostly edited. On the other there seemed to be a… some sort of orchestral song playing. Based on what he could just barely hear from Ethan’s earbuds, and from what he’d heard of him humming earlier, it had the rhythm of a waltz.  
He set down both mugs of coffee on the table with a clink, ignoring the odd, almost muffled feeling in his chest. Any noise felt loud, here, and Mark wasn’t quite sure why. Mark never minded silence, he quite enjoyed it, in fact. But this felt… different.

“Hey there,” Mark said, voice still rough with sleep, but still coming out a good bit quieter than he’d meant it to. It almost felt like a whisper.

  
And finally, finally, Ethan looked up at him.

Just a glance, really, his gaze tracking onto Mark and then his head smoothly lifting with it.

His expression so blank that it almost felt like Ethan was staring straight through him.  
Eyes shining off him like he’s made of glass. Fragile, translucent; unable to hide anything.

Mark suddenly felt… small. Tense in a way he hasn’t since he was a child, wilting under his mother’s knowing stare.

“Good morning,” Mark said, smiling slightly, if only because he didn’t really know what else to do. He’d known Ethan for a while now, but he never acted like thus… never so quiet and so still.

  
Almost like he’d forgotten how he was supposed to act.  
After a moment, Ethan removed his earbuds.

“Good morning,” Ethan parroted, the words low and quiet; almost like he was trying to match the exact timbre of Mark’s. Mark really couldn’t tell if it was Ethan trying to jokingly mock him, or if he was also feeling the… odd, almost smothering softness of the atmosphere.

There was a pause, and Mark looked toward the window where Ethan had been staring. The sun was slightly beginning to crest over the edge of the trees with its light. It was still far from dawn, but the sky had begun to tint lighter, grey clouds hovering neatly over the horizon.

Mark nudged Ethan’s coffee toward him. Ethan didn’t seem to notice, now watching Mark with the same odd intensity to which he’d been paying the skyline. Something about it made Mark swallow, and wonder why the hell Ethan was acting like this.  
Was he just really deep in thought about something? Had the boy had a bad dream? A nightmare maybe?

Mark found himself glancing around the cabin, over the skyline and the clouds again- anywhere but Ethan’s cool, blank eyes.

“I’m…” Mark paused, taking in a breath. The air felt heavy in his lungs; thick like molasses.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked anyway. Pressing through the weird feeling.

  
The bus shifted, a few streetlights glancing in through the windows as they entered more toward the city, momentarily lighting up the cabin. Even under the light, the shadows seemed to hang off Ethan. Under his steady arms and tucked beneath his chin.

“…I’m doing okay,” Ethan said slowly. The words felt slow, maybe just slightly like something pre-recorded, but Mark shook his head before he could think too far into it.

  
Ethan’s head tilted, his focus sharpening for just a moment, making Mark’s heart rate jump, ever so slightly.  
And then he was turning back toward the window.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Mark found himself asking, feeling the need to elaborate; to justify why he kept pushing, “usually I’m the first one up.”

And Ethan smiled, ever so slightly.  
But he didn’t reply.

  
After another long moment of silence, which Mark nervously filled by drumming his fingers on his mug and taking the occasional sip, Ethan lifted his hand from the table.

Svelte, elegant fingers untucked a silver chained necklace from under the neck of shirt, then slid down the silver chain, clasping tightly around the pendant hung there. It was a small silver gear with a small cyan gemstone in the center.

There was engraving on it, but Mark wasn’t close enough to see what it could be.

A street light bounced across Ethan’s glasses, momentarily obscuring his eyes from view. In a quick motion, Ethan’s fingers sloped up the chain to the back of his neck, and unlatched the pendant.

He looked up, and Ethan’s eyes no longer had that weight.   
He did blink rather tensely though, as if seeing Mark there had finally startled him.

“Oh, uh, hey Mark.” Ethan said.

Whatever weird weight had been, it was gone now.

  
“Hey?” Mark said, peaking an eyebrow and letting out a slight laugh.

“How long have you been up, man? You’re really out of it.”

Ethan flushed and let out a laugh of his own.  
He looked down at the pendant for a moment, then, as if remembering something important, he shoved it into his pocket.

Maybe it was some kind of comfort item. Something he brought from home maybe?

“You gonna actually drink your coffee now?” Mark asked, nudging the still-warm mug over to Ethan, “or are you gonna wait for it to go cold.”

“You made me coffee?” Ethan said, sounding oddly confused for someone who'd been in the room while Mark made it.

He either caught his mistake, or just caught the odd, amused look Mark was giving him, and smiled nervously. His knee drumming and fingers twitching as he reached out and pulled the mug toward him, an anxious fidget that Mark found oddly charming; at least in comparison to the stillness of his earlier demeanor.

Mark wanted to ask about it, to figure out what had been going on in Ethan’s mind to shift his mannerisms so much.  
But the questions died in his throat.

All he saw were Ethan’s warm, full eyes, shining, twinkling from under his thin framed glasses.

  
“I, umm,” Ethan muttered, holding the mug up to his chin, smiling into the drink, “thanks Mark,” he said.

And Mark nodded. He took a long sip of his own coffee, and relished in the soft feeling filling his chest.  
And they sat by the window, and watched the sun rise.

Eventually, the bus was warmed by the honeyed light of sunrise. The cold fell away. The quiet felt soft. Companionable.   
The low clacking sound of Ethan’s fingers across his keyboard filled the air, the lift and set of their mugs clacking against the counter, the slow sipping of their coffees adding to the rhythm.

Mark scrolled through his phone, checking his twitter notifications, then his email. Ethan’s hands twitched, finger tips clacking across his keyboard.

In the other room, covers began to shift. The familiar shuffle of other people waking up.

Ethan’s head twitched up to the doorway at the sounds.

Amy was the first to join them, still dressed in her pajamas —an old white t-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants— and her bare feet padded softly along cool the floor. She was carrying a hairbrush, but didn’t seem to’ve quite gathered the energy to actually use it yet.

  
“Well don’t you look energized?” Mark asked with a smile, standing from his seat and pocketing his phone.

“I smelled coffee,” Amy said, scrubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes before making grabby hands toward the pot.

“Go sit down,” Mark said, taking the few steps it took to be at her side and sweetly pressing a kiss to her temple, “I’ll make you a cup.”

“Mmm, thanks baby,” she said with a long hum. Smiling up at him in that way that never failed to set his heart fluttering. Then shuffled over to the seats; she seemed to finally take notice of Ethan, squinting her eyes into the bright windows and the sunshine.

“Mornin’ Ethan,” Amy said, sliding into the bench right next to him, leaning against him slightly. Setting the unused-hairbrush on the counter. Ethan just smiled at her.

“Good morning,” Ethan greeted, fond and warm like the golden sun rays beaming down on them.

Amy let out a long yawn, lifting her arms and stretching out.   
It was faintly cat-like, Mark thought, finishing up with pouring Amy her own shallow mug.

“Whatcha listening to?” Amy asked, slouching into Ethan even further, tucking herself into his warm shadow.  
Mark twisted back toward them, setting down the mug in front of his girlfriend and smiling as her delicate hands wrapped around it.

“Oh, um-“ Ethan paused, looking at the screen and then back to Amy.

If Mark hadn’t been paying so close attention, he may not have noticed the momentary, minuscule pinch in Ethans brow as he tried to figure out what he even had been listening too.

“Just some classical stuff. Helps me focus.”

Amy hummed and nodded, taking a long sip of her coffee and smiling into it. Mark picked up his phone, and quickly got lost in replying to emails, confirming schedules and arrangements and hopefully keeping everything about the tour running smoothly.

“Your hair’s all rucked up,” Ethan commented. Amy shifted to look at him, mumbling a low _‘I just woke up’_ into her cup, even though she knew he wouldn’t understand her; prioritizing actually waking up fully to answering obvious statements about her dishevelment. She peered over his shoulder toward the window, still wincing slightly at the sun, but blinking into it.

  
Ethan seemed totally fine with that. But then he seemed to pause for a long moment. The bus was shaded momentarily by a few buildings blocking the sunshine. They were nearing the city now, warm rays bouncing off tall glass buildings, making them glint and glitter like giant gemstones.

“Want me to brush it for you?” Ethan asked. And Amy looked back toward him. Finally setting down her mug on the counter with a light clink, having downed at least half of it in her go. Ethan flushed under her gaze as she looked at him, shifting, caving in on himself in his seat. He looked so small when he did that, it made Amy’s heart soften; maybe a little too much.

  
“When I was a kid I’d do it for my mom all the time,” Ethan reasoned, “I just though, like.. if- if you’re too tired…” he let his voice wilt toward the end. Amy squished down the sweet feeling in her chest that made her want to swaddle him up and hug him until all that anxiety fell away.

  
The sun came back, and something about the warmth just cast both Amy and Ethan in such a warm, sweet light. The freckles on Ethan’s lightly-flushed cheeks to the shadow under his lashes. Amy spared barley a second to glance at Mark, who had his phone lifted up a little too high, meaning he was either trying to hide his own fond-expression, or he was taking pictures. She didn’t put it past him to be doing both.

“Yeah, sure,” Amy finally said with a nod, smiling wider as Ethan perked up to look at her. Warm hazel eyes glimmering in the glow of morning.

Amy concealed her own smile slightly by clearing her throat.

  
God forbid this kid ever actually be made aware of how much people loved him. He had too much power already.

  
Amy moved the brush toward him, then twisted in her seat so her back was facing him. She took another long sip of her coffee, the warm, sweet taste settling on her lips.

Ethan moved in surprisingly well practiced motions. Starting low on her hair and slowly moving up, making sure to work through any low tangles before moving on. The brush scraped gently along the nape of her neck, his strokes long and even.  
Once he got to the top of her scalp, he alternated brushing with the actual brush and carding his fingers through, smoothing down any frizz and making sure to get through a few tangles at the nape of her neck. Amy hummed into the feeling of Ethan’s warm hands dancing through the bleached, silken strands of her hair.

  
And if Amy heard the faint click of a phone camera going off, and the muffled sound of Mark’s slight, fond laughter —both of which Ethan seemed to miss completely, if his unhesitating hands said anything— then, well… Amy wasn’t about to be the one to spoil it.


	2. Chapter 2

They finally got into the heart of the city at a little before ten o’clock, by which time everyone had thankfully awoken on their own. It had started as a slow morning, lingering and chattering and laughing.  
But as soon as the bus parks in the lot, it’s all a sharp blur of action.

They step out into the fresh air with barley enough time to take it in before they were being brushed along. Unloading their bags and equipment onto luggage carts, which were quickly taken to be put backstage by the few stage-hands. They kept their personal luggage with them as they were shepherded into the giant building.

“Hi there, I’m Jamie Reyes, Stage Manager for Hienz Hall.” A woman greeted, straightening her sensibly cuffed, button down shirt and extending a cleanly manicured hand. Ethan, who was the only one apparently with a free hand, given how Mark was quickly doing his best to juggle shoving his phone and water bottle in his pocket while not dropping his bag in the process-  
So Ethan stepped froward, meeting her hand for a firm shake. Nodding in a way hoped made him look diplomatic and adult, instead of the awkward and unsure that he felt.  
Her hand was surprisingly strong for her thin frame. Her perfume reminded Ethan of something sterile.

“Nice to meet you Ms. Reyes,” Ethan said, as solid and warmly as he could manage with the buzz of nerves under his skin.   
“I’m Ethan.” He ran a hand through his own mop of curly hair. Fighting the urge to fiddle with it more, and instead focusing on pressing his shoulders down, relaxing his stance a little.

Jamie just smiled, her dark eyeliner crinkling slightly at the edges. Her pixie cut of glossy, jagged black hair falling slightly into her face.

“Oh please, call me Jamie,” she said, waving a dismissive hand and letting out a buoyant laugh. Ethan nodded and smiled his own. She seemed nice, charming too, but Ethan figured that was probably necessary for her line of work; managing a stage as big as this with many talented, similarly charming artists coming to preform here.

Mark moved up behind him, having apparently set down his bag so he could come give her a good handshake. 

“Mark,” he introduced himself. “You’re the one I exchanged emails with, right?” He asked, and Jamie nodded again. Immediately shifting her focus and letting Ethan take a long breath. He watched Mark and her converse, going over scheduling and when exactly things were happening.  
Mark always looked so effortless in this stuff. He always seemed to know just what to say, especially when it came to being professional.

“Well lets get this show on the road!” She seemed to blink for a moment, then grinned, “no pun intended, of course.”

The group let out a polite laugh at that, as Mark grabbed his bag again.

“We’ll go to your dressing rooms so you can drop off your stuff,” Jamie said, already moving toward the door and opening it for them, “then we’ll have the grand tour.”

And then they were off. Moving through the marble-floored backrooms and the lobby of the giant building. Ethan’s eyes wandered over the large cream-colored walls. Lingering on gold, Victorian-stencil accents that curled around the giant arching doorways in cursive vines and florals. The place lit by giant tear-drop chandeliers and ornate candelabra’s. Tall marble pillars standing solid against intricate red carpets, that gave way to marble flooring that sprawled beneath their feet.

Jamie asked vaguely about their travels, then about any specifics they might need for the show that hadn’t already been discussed. Mark responded quickly, Tyler, Bob and Wade all chiming in occasionally. Explaining the audience participation, how they planned on getting the people up onto the stage without actually bringing them backstage-

And Ethan just tucked himself into the familiarity of his phone.  
He could give the excuse that checking up on his social medias, keeping active on them was especially important on tour, given his normal videos had to be put on the back-burner for it… but really he was mostly just tired. He’d need the energy for the show tonight anyway.

So Ethan just listened to the hum of his friend’s voices, following their easy footsteps down the elegant hallways as he checked up on a tweet he’d made this morning: something vague about how excited he was for the show, accompanied with a nice picture of the golden sunrise over the Pittsburgh city skyline. The replies had been pretty excited as well, people commenting about how stoked they were to see them all in person, bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t go, or asking questions about the show.

They went down a ramp, and Ethan had to pay a little more attention to where he was going, just so that he wouldn’t trip over himself or his friends, or any of their luggage, on the way down.  
His own suitcase did knock him a few times, nipping at his heels, but all in all he managed without making a fool of himself. So Ethan felt he could take that as a win-

Ethan feels something, then. It’s cold and mercurial; instantly shifting his mood from bored and tired, into stiff and adrenalized. Ethan feels his breath quicken. He shoves his phone into his pocket. The hallway feels slightly cooler than it had just moments ago, and-

He feels a presence behind him. He stops walking. He feels a hand lift to try and grab him- but he swivels to face them before they can.

But there’s nobody there.  
‘Nobody that you can see’, a piece of him says. That doesn’t mean nobody’s there.  
It’s not at all uncommon for theaters like this to be haunted, after all.

Ethan looks up. The group are still moving, still chatting. Kathrine untying her hoodie from her waist to loan to Amy, who was tucked under Mark’s arm, complaining of a draft.  
Ethan just lets out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding, then swivels and glares at the empty space where the presence had been. Hoping that would be enough-

Ethan’s entire body goes warm. And it’s like his heart is kicking to life in his chest for the first time in months.  
He feels the sensation tingle across his body and flush through his muscles. Something akin to a soft burning sensation pools in his chest and spreads a static, a sweet fuzz filling his head.  
Ethan pushes it down, doing his best not to sway on his feet; to regain full function of his body.

Ethan doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out the pendant until it’s almost around his neck. He yanks it off before he can.  
If it were a normal necklace, he’s pretty sure the chain would’ve snapped. Instead, it just delicately falls to the ground, clanking peacefully onto the marble floor.

He looks up. The group still hasn’t noticed.  
Thank fuck.

Ethan grabs the smooth handle of his suitcase, not remembering having let go of it. He leans down and snatches the pendant from the ground and closes his fist around it tight, ignoring how it shakes in his palm like a glass vase trying to contain a hot thunderstorm.

He jogs to catch up. His friends haven’t actually moved along too far, seeming to slow down slightly to keep up conversation. 

But even so, he can feel his own footsteps slowing. He can feel himself lulling, keeping a few paces behind the group. As if his own feet are trying their damndest to tug him back toward that presence. It’s like a hunting dog who’s spotted a rabbit, and is now tugging violently against it’s leash, and dragging Ethan along with it.

Ethan has to dig his feet in and bite down on his own tongue to keep from sliding back ward. His pulse thrums lowly in his ears, pulsing as if his blood is doing it’s damndest to claw its way out from his veins. The pressure momentarily fills his vision with black spots. He tastes iron. The the gear-shaped pendant feels like it’s branding him, and all he can think is: ‘No. No, not now.’

Ethan swallows harshly, his throat dry and face warm. It feels like he’s playing a tug of war over his own consciousness. The world sways and he stumbles to keep up.

‘Later.’ he promises. ‘Later tonight, we can hunt down that presence. Tonight we can make it pay for bothering us.’ He swears, still tugging hard against the feeling, to keep moving forward. ‘But not right now.’ 

And finally, the feeling relents.

But Ethan doesn’t have time to correct for the momentum- and like a rubber band pulled tight and then snapping. Ethan stumbles forward wildly. He slams into something solid and human-

“Oh fuck!” Tyler exclaims. His suitcase clacks into the ground as the man instinctually twists, grasping out to steady Ethan. His hands land on Ethan’s shoulders.  
“Careful dude,” Tyler says, supporting him.

“Sorry!” Ethan exclaims, pulling backward as quick as he can. Ethan feels his knees wobble, but his reflexes kick in fast enough this time to lock them before he can fall.  
Tyler’s hands slide down his biceps for a moment. The pressure is solid, real. It’s comforting, in a way.

Ethan looks up, realizing that the whole group had stopped at the commotion.

“You okay Eth?” Amy asks, bundled up in a hoodie that’s definitely too big on her. Her expression is all soft lines and concern. It makes Ethan melt a little bit.

“Yeah, that was quite the stumble,” Wade comments, picking up Tyler’s suitcase from off the ground for him.  
Tyler lifts his hands so they’re a few inches away from Ethan, as if to spot him, making sure he can stand on his own.  
Ethan smiles, softly flushing under their concern.

“Yeah, I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” Ethan said, lifting his hand off his suitcase to scratch at the nape of his neck.

“What did you even trip over?” Tyler asks after a long moment.

“Who even knows,” Ethan says, “I guess I’m just clumsy today.” He shoves the hand with the pendant into his pocket, then pretends his phone is the thing that keeps buzzing.


	3. Chapter 3

After dropping their things off in their dressing rooms, the stage management efficiently shuffled them through the routines.

They were shown the stage, the backrooms and how to get around; making sure they know where things are. Where security was posted, where the fire alarms and exits are, where fire _extinguishers_ are.  
Mark made sure to add a quip about how glad he is they’re so well prepared for a fire hazard, given how _hot_ he already is. He relished in the loud groan his friends gave him in return — Tyler even going so far as to mime pulling out the fire extinguisher and slamming Mark over the head with it.

Then one o’clock rolled around and it was lunch time.

“Ethan, what do you think?” He said, turning to the seat next to him- only to find it empty.

Mark blinked. Eyes scanning across the rest of the back room, coming up blank.

“…Eth?” Mark asked, looking toward the rest of his friends, who still hadn’t moved, lounging and relaxing across the few couches in their main prep room.

How the hell Ethan managed to _totally disappear_ , in small spaces, in the isles of small gas stations or even the confines of a tour bus, was beyond him.

“Where’d he go?” Amy asked, sitting up from where she’d been folded in the crook of Mark’s arm. She looked around=

“I’m right here,” Ethan says from right diagonally behind him, and Mark actually jumps at the suddenness of it.  
Because he’s a human being, and human beings jump when they’re startled.

  
Ethan giggled at his obvious startle, and quipped with Amy for a moment, who defended him half-heartedly, smiling along.

There are a lot of things that don’t make sense about Ethan, and his total lack of presence is one of them. It’s so consistent that it has to be a talent, or a personality trait he developed somewhere along the way, but how can something like that coexist with such a loud personality and buoyant laughter?

It’s quiet in a way his energy should totally deny; surreptitious in a way that shouldn’t be allowed.  
But when had silly things like ‘the laws and rules of the natural universe’ stopped people like Ethan Nestor-Darling?

“You good man?” Ethan asks, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and squeezing with a gentle touch. Mark twists toward the feeling, and realizes just how close Ethan is. His hazel eyes are warm and comforting, leaning close over the back of the couch. He smells sweet.

He looks tired.

And Mark _definitely_ doesn’t have to avoid the urge to just- grab Ethan and pull him over the back of the couch. He doesn’t have to physically clench his hand in Amy’s to avoid leaning back and wrapping an arm around Ethan, tucking him close. Just for a moment; just for long enough to let the tension on the boy’s shoulders fall away, like snow melting in the sun.  
And Mark most definitely doesn’t avoid Amy’s sweet, yet knowing knowing gaze. He just finds his phone really interesting in that moment, okay? That’s it.

He scrolls quickly through the list of delivery places.

“What do you want for lunch?” Mark asks loudly, keeping the rest of his thoughts quiet.

“I dunno,” Ethan shrugs.  
He yawns, his cheeks crinkle as he smiles, shaking off the lack of rest, as if it would just fall off his shoulders like a poorly tied scarf.

“Wow, _so very_ opinionated,” Wade quips. Ethan rolls his eyes, but he smiles a little. It doesn’t stick.

“You know me,” Ethan replies unoriginally. He flops down into one of the empty chairs.

Mark’s eyes flicker back to his phone; a part of him wonders if Ethan will still be there when he looks back, or if he’ll unintentionally disappear again.

  
They eventually find a place that’s allergen friendly, a sandwich place from up the way, and after nobody disagrees to it, they finally set in the order.

“I’m actually probably gonna take a nap for a little,” Ethan says slowly, standing and stretching.  
“Wanna make sure I’m energized for the show n’ all.”

  
Mark nods and sends him a soft smile that, might just have been a little bit too soft, if the way Amy’s nudging at his knee says anything.  
Mark purposefully ignores it, instead standing up and nodding.

“Cool cool,” Mark says, nodding, walking with him toward the hallway.  
“Want me to wake you when food gets here?” Mark opens the door for him.

Ethan ducks through, thinking for a moment, then he shrugs.  
The door shuts behind them.

“Sure.” He smiles absentmindedly, it’s fond, but it’s not strong.  
“Thanks man,” he says, shifting to turn and walk away-

And Mark doesn’t resist the urge this time; pulling Ethan into a short hug.  
Or, it was supposed to be short.

But then Ethan had to just like- lean into it. Too curl into his arms like a cat in a warm sun ray. And feeling the smaller tuck into his chest, gentle under him… Mark just… couldn’t let go. He feels Ethan’s lean arms wrap gently around him, tangling in the back of his shirt. Maybe that should be his cue to let go, but he can’t.

Mark’s arms pull him ever so slightly tighter, just enough that he can feel the tense chords of the boy’s muscle relax into the touch. He can feel the slow heft of his breathing against his chest.  
It’s easy to forget how fit Ethan is, how hardly he’s trained his body, especially with his affinity for baggy sweaters and big hoodies. He may be a ‘soft boy’, but holding him, and being held right back, feels strong and soft and comfortable all at the same time.

“…Mark?” Ethan mumbles after a long moment. His head tucked just beside Mark’s. And he can feel Ethan shift. Mark’s stubble grits along the line of where Ethan’s shirt meets his neck. He smells sweet; a mixture of his shirt’s soft detergent and the austere whiskey of his cologne.

He doesn’t look any less tired- but he does look less tense.

“I’m glad you’re takin’ care of yourself, bud,” Mark says. His arms tighten for a short moment around Ethan, then he leans back, letting his hands glide up and rest on the muscle of Ethan’s slumped shoulders.  
“Don’t overwork yourself.” He squeezes Ethan’s shoulders, then lets his hands fall.

  
Ethan looks at him for a moment as though he’s grown a second head- then he smiles, it feels more natural this time.  
“The great fated Markiplier telling _me_ not to overwork myself?” Ethan says dramatically.  
“Wow. What a world, what a world.”

“Oh shut up,” Mark says, playfully knocking his shoulder. And Ethan laughs- a real one this time.

“Have a good nap,” Mark wishes. And Ethan nods; just barely stopping himself from saying ‘you too’. Mark can see it on his face.

So Mark lets him go.

The door to the lounge room opens maybe a few seconds later; the timing is too good for her not to’ve been listening in.

“The baby’s finally going to bed?” Amy asks with a grin. Ethan, apparently still near enough in the hallway to hear, lets out a loud ‘not a baby!!’, which gets summarily ignored.

“Give me a call if you need a bedtime story!” Amy calls after him. And Ethan flips her off.  
They all laugh.

It feels good.

¶¶¶

Ethan smiles at the few people he passes, but he cannot bring himself to engage. The slightest hint of unease swirls just beneath his skin at the idea that Mark had noticed his behavior, that he had been being looked for so closely to notice when he felt off.

There had been a time when he had practically perfected the ability to blend right into the background, to disappear in plain sight.  
And, if he’s totally honest, it unnerves him to suddenly learn that he no longer seems to have that. Or worse, that he is watched so closely that he cannot fade away when he needs to anymore.

Ethan enters his designated room. It’s small and dusty, with a mirror and desk on one end and a narrow bed on the other. His suitcase is tucked in the corner, next to a shelf that’s decorated with photos of famous people who’ve stayed here.

He lays down fully clothed and shod on the bed, wincing as it creaks beneath him. There’s no point in actually undressing though.

He’s not actually going to sleep.

  
Ethan closes his eyes, and shuts down his senses. He reaches into his chest, where his necklace would be if he were wearing it- and he’s answered immediately. A soft fuzz fills his senses, a pleasant fog. His jaw clenches but it’s like he’s chewing on cotton.

‘ _We can do it now._ ’ Ethan thinks loudly. ‘ _But we only have... maybe thirty minutes._ ’

The answer he gets is an immediate rush of dopamine, and he feels the jitter of happy agreement go through him.  
  
He feels the familiar static spreads through him, a sweet fuzz filling his head and washing through his whole body. Leaving his whole body tingling, almost floating- maybe he is floating, it wouldn’t be the first time.  
A soft burning sensation pools in his chest, and he doesn’t push it away.

A taste fills his mouth like touching your tongue to a battery. His hands move of both his own accord, and not. The _between state_ feels like a gentle hypnosis.

  
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pendant. He can feel it buzzing at the same frequency his head is at; like they’re both set to the same empty radio station.

He hasn’t done this in months; not that many opportunities when you’re alone time is limited to using the bathroom and changing —but then again, they’d gotten to a point where even changing was done mostly in the open— so it’s no surprise when it takes a lot more focus than usual to tame his rapidly beating heart.

It’s an instinctual response to being possessed, one he’s learned to deal with over time. Even consensually, the ice-cold sensation of his body not being under his control flushes through his veins.

Ethan takes a deep breath in, and fully latches the pendant around his neck.

He feels stronger instantly.  
Better.  
More energized and clear of mind-

The window in the corner of the room rattles and shakes. The world tremors with energy.

He feels powerful.

Ethan feels whatever presence, whatever else has been living within these walls, flinch. The small ghost that had been haunting this theater pulling away as something far larger emerges. Like a small fox being suddenly cornered by a dragon; by something far, far larger and more ferocious. Something that really shouldn’t exist-

  
Then he blacks out.  
  


Blank wakes up.


End file.
